"The hand of the 'avenger' has smitten. I have not long to live. Will you, in your honorable kindness, protect my nephew, Po Lun? He will make a good and faithful servant, requiting kindness with zeal. May the Lord of Heaven bless you." "WONG LEE." Excitedly and with many gestures Po Lun described the killing of his uncle by a Hip Yee "hatchetman." But even in his dying hour Wong Lee had found means to protect a kinsman. Po Lun wept as he told of Wong Lee's goodness. Suddenly he knelt and touched his forehead three times to the floor at Alice's feet. "Missee, please, you let me stay?" he pleaded. "Po Lun plenty work. Washee, cookee, clean-em house." His glance strayed toward the cradle. "Takem care you' li'l boy." Benito glanced at Alice questioningly. "Would you--trust him?" he whispered. "Yes," she said impulsively. "He has a good face ... and we need a servant." She beckoned to Po Lun. "Come, I will show you the kitchen and a place to sleep." * * * * * Broderick came back from Washington and entered actively into the State campaign. He found its politics a hodge-podge of unsettled, bitter policies. The Republicans made overtures to him; they sought a coalition with the Anti-Lecompton Democrats as opposed to Chivalry or Solid South Democracy. Benito and Alice saw little of Broderick. He was here, there, everywhere, making impassioned, often violent speeches. Most of them were printed in the daily papers. "They'll be duelling soon," said Windham anxiously, as he read of Broderick's accusations of "The Lime Point Swindle," "The Mail-carrying Conspiracy," his reference to Gwin and Latham as "two great criminals," to the former, "dripping with corruption." Then came Judge Terry with an unprovoked attack on members of the Anti-Lecompton party. "They are the personal chattels of one man," he said, "a single individual whom they are ashamed of. They belong heart, soul, body and breeches to David C. Broderick. Afraid to acknowledge their master they call themselves Douglas Democrats.... Perhaps they sail under the flag of Douglas, but it is the Black Douglas, whose name is Frederick, not Stephen." Frederick Douglas was a negro. Therefore, Terry's accusation was the acme of insult and contumely, which a Southerner's imagination could devise. Broderick read it in a morning paper as he breakfasted with friends in the International Hotel and, wounded by the thrust from one he deemed a friend, spoke bitterly: "I have always said that Terry was the only honest man on the bench of a miserably corrupt court. But I take it all back. He is just as bad as the others."